


Matt the Grabber

by chris_edward (hwshipper)



Series: The Chris 'Verse [9]
Category: House M.D., No Fandom
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-27
Updated: 2011-03-19
Packaged: 2019-05-24 06:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14949680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hwshipper/pseuds/chris_edward
Summary: Chris has a new boyfriend. Which is a good thing. Right?Excerpt: Raul and Linus got back from their Canadian trip on a Friday afternoon, and within twenty-four hours Linus had heard that Chris had a new boyfriend from three different people.





	1. Matt the Grabber chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: the incredibly awesome srsly_yes
> 
> Matt is a boyfriend of Chris's who came on the scene a long time after Edward, but before Brian. Previously mentioned in [Sunrise Sunset](https://archiveofourown.org/works/68183/chapters/89986) and Enough of the Deja Vu.

Raul and Linus got back from their Canadian trip on a Friday afternoon, and within twenty-four hours Linus had heard that Chris had a new boyfriend from three different people. Raul was tired from traveling, and he was sure Linus was too, but Linus decided they must go to the club that evening in the hope of meeting the new guy.

"Ziggy didn't sound particularly enamored of him," Linus mused on the way. "And Ferdinand was definitely lukewarm. I am curious, Raul, very curious."

"Surely if he makes Chris happy, that is a good thing, whatever he's like," Raul ventured.

"I suppose that is true. It's been more than eight years since dear Edward died, after all, and he's had very few serious relationships in that time." Linus was thoughtful. "You'll remember how worried I was before we left." 

Raul nodded soberly. They had almost not gone to Canada at all, Linus having been most concerned about leaving Chris for the duration of three months. Chris had been depressed and going through a bad patch in the period before they'd left. He'd taken to shuffling around in sneakers and drab, dingy clothes. Usually a workaholic, he had been working less and sleeping instead, drinking more, and getting high on particularly difficult days. 

His long-standing club manager Bob had retired and moved to Florida, which had maybe been some kind of trigger. Linus had helped find a replacement, and although Ferdinand couldn't argue with Chris in the way Bob always had done, he could be trusted to keep a sharp eye on things and report to Linus and Ziggy whenever necessary. Ziggy had collared Chris to replace Linus in his weekly golf game, and thus also make sure things were okay.

"Anyway, let's look forward to meeting the new man," Linus said briskly as they pulled into the club parking lot.

It was quiet, as was customary for mid-afternoon. They found Chris in the downstairs bar, a coffee and a pile of accounts in front of him. 

"Hey!" he stood to greet them with a clap on the back (for Linus) and a warm hug (for Raul). "Great to see you. Good trip?"

"We had a wonderful time, Chris." Linus pulled up a chair, and the three of them sat chatting about Canada for a while. Raul thought that Chris was noticeably brighter and happier than he had been when they'd left, and that couldn't just be because they'd just got back. His gray eyes were sharp and clear, his mood humorous and teasing, his smart-casual T-shirt and jeans were clean and ironed.

Linus soon shifted the conversation. "But enough about us, Chris, we need to hear all about your new man!"

"You got back yesterday!" Chris shook his head. "His name's Matt, he's working right now but he's meeting me here later so you'll see him then."

"And what does he do?" Linus probed.

"He's a boat engineer. Started working in the marina office a couple of months ago, that's how we met. He rents boats out, fixes them, pumps gas, takes the rental fees for the dock spaces, all that kind of thing."

This all sounded good to Raul, who was good at sailing himself.

"He's not perhaps what you'd expect," Chris added, suddenly hesitant. "He's very...blunt. Straight talking. Says what he thinks."

"I can hardly wait to meet him," Linus declared.

They sat chatting for a while longer before Chris suddenly said, "Hey, here he is."

Linus and Raul turned around simultaneously to stare at the man walking toward them. He didn't look like Chris's type, which Raul had always understood to be the image of Edward; dark floppy hair, brown eyes behind glasses. This man was younger than Chris by maybe five years, but that was as far as any similarity went. He had blond hair which was shaved short, and light blue eyes. He was dressed very casually in torn jeans, sneakers and a ragged sweater.

"Matt." Chris was on his feet. "I'd like you to meet my friends, just back from vacation. This is Linus. And this is Raul."

The man shook hands with Linus, his smile rather reserved and his greeting gruff. Then he looked at Raul with frank appraisal, and Raul felt his cheeks flush as Matt's eyes widened to gawp and his mouth opened a little. 

"Good to meet you, Raul," Matt said, his handshake brief but very firm, with a suggestive squeeze.

* * *

Matt spent his first week in his new job settling into the work while keeping an eye out for possible tail. A large marina like this in a nice area of New Jersey, full of big yachts and smart cabin cruisers, must be loads of rich men who might appreciate a bit of male company.

Unfortunately the boat ownership demographic was tilted heavily toward aggressively straight men with trophy wives, neither of which was of interest to him. Matt suspected the size of the boats compensated for other areas of their lives.

And then one breezy afternoon, he was sitting outside the floating marina office when he spotted a tall fair-haired man in black biking leathers carrying a motorcycle helmet, striding down the dock toward him. Now _that_ was more like it. Please God let this one be at least a little bit gay. 

The man reached him and said, "Hey. Afternoon. You the new guy?"

"That's right. Matt. Pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?"

"Just wanted to check the last docking fee went through." The biker had a low, strong voice. He pointed at a small boat tied up not far away. "Not showing up on my bank statement yet. Can you check?"

The boat in question was a small but perfectly formed cabin cruiser. Good taste. Matt went into the office and found it on the computer; there were two registered owners. "Are you Chris or Linus?"

"Chris."

"Well, Chris, the rental's been paid. Went through this morning, it looks like." Matt was pleased by this easy resolution. He wondered if this guy was gay, whether this Linus was his partner. He noticed that Chris wore a ring on the third finger of his left hand, a heavy metal ring with some kind of motif on it that he couldn't make out.

"That's good to know, thanks." Chris looked like he might just turn and leave, and Matt hastened to try and extend the conversation.

"You live near here?"

"Bit further down the coast, that way." Chris gestured. "Linus lives closer than me, he uses the boat more but he's away on vacation at the moment."

Couldn't be a partner then, or Chris would surely be on that vacation too. "So what do you do, Chris?" Matt asked jovially. 

"I own a couple of bars, a few restaurants, that kind of thing," Chris looked vaguely embarrassed. 

"Yeah?" That sounded interesting. "I'm new to the area, I could do with some recommendations. What's the nightlife like around here?"

Chris threw him a speculative look, and said, "Do you know the club up the coast, right on the beach?"

"I do know it." Matt understood in a flash; it was a gay club, and this was both information about Chris and a sideways enquiry about himself. "Yeah, I've gone there once or twice. Nice place. Big TV screen."

"That's it. It's my club," Chris nodded. He took a card out of his wallet and flicked it over to Matt. "Next time you're there, bring this, it'll get you into the private bar upstairs."

"No shit." Matt was seriously impressed. "I'll take you up on that."

* * *

Matt headed there the following Friday night, by which time he was full of new knowledge and anticipation. He had taken the time to enquire about Chris around the marina, and everything he'd heard had been uniformly positive. The guy must be well-off. He paid his bills promptly at the marina and his credit was good with local suppliers.

He owned a half share in the boat ("Used to be a quarter share, but him and his pal Linus bought the others out," it was explained to him). The pal Linus (who was loaded by all accounts) was away in Canada for a few months, and was reported to have a devoutly loyal much younger boyfriend.

Whereas Chris was single, despite that ring he wore, and the air of loneliness he radiated was apparently due to the tragic death of the love of his life some years ago. Quite a few years ago, nobody quite knew how long. Long enough, Matt concluded, that he was definitely due someone new to share his life. Someone who could fix his engine when required…

At the club, the card did indeed get him in the upstairs bar, which was elegantly decorated if dimly lit.

"Chris around?" he asked the bartender, with a studied show of nonchalance.

The bartender said cautiously that he'd find out (had to screen out the masses of hangers-on, Matt supposed) and ten minutes later Chris appeared from a door behind the bar. He looked...hot, but a bit worse for wear, Matt thought. Gray eyes slightly glazed, fair hair ruffled, feet stumbling as he rounded the counter. Huh, three sheets to the wind and it wasn't ten PM yet. 

"Hey," Chris greeted Matt. "It's Matt the marina guy. What're you drinking?"

"Some kind of Scotch." Matt was relieved to be remembered. "There's a big selection."

"I go to Scotland every couple of years and stock up. Best stuff is out of sight." Chris rapped on the bar, and the bartender silently reached down and brought out a bottle with a peeling label and two fresh glasses.

Matt wasn’t a great whiskey connoisseur, but he liked that Chris clearly was. They took the bottle to a corner table, where Chris ensconced himself comfortably and asked Matt about his day, and his job, and himself. Matt was careful to only take small sips of the whiskey, and to share only what he felt comfortable with.

At one point an attractive young man with a winning smile slid across the room and perched on Chris's chair. "Hey, Chris."

"Hey," Chris replied, friendly, but not responding to the hand caressing his arm.

"Wanna come downstairs and dance?"

"Naw, not tonight," Chris was gruff.

"Well, if you change your mind...or if you want some company later on, let me know." The man slid away with a pout and a meaningful eyebrow raise.

"Guess it's not hard to get laid, owning a club like this." Matt spoke his thoughts.

Chris grinned. "Yeah, if I didn't own the place I'd never get lucky."

"That's not what I meant." Matt felt his face grow hot with embarrassment at the unintended slight.

"I know. You're right, anyway." Chris put his glass down on the table, his smile gone. "It's not hard getting laid. It's much harder having a decent conversation with someone."

He might as well well have had _I'm a sad lonely sucker_ tattooed on his forehead.

* * *

A couple of hours later, Matt was almost completely sober while Chris was nearly comatose in his chair. A guy wearing a headset wandered across the room; Matt could see from the name badge on his lapel that his name was Ferdinand and he was the bar manager. 

"Chris, you okay? You're not driving home like that," Ferdinand cast a dubious eye at Chris's sleepy eyes and hunched posture.

"Naw. I'll crash in my office," Chris muttered.

"You don't want to do that," Matt objected. It sounded most uncomfortable. "I'll drop you home, if you want. Down the coast, right?"

"Yeah. Well, if it's not too much trouble..."

Excellent. They departed soon afterwards. Matt mentally crossed his fingers and hoped his car would start. It was a very old battered vehicle but he couldn't afford anything better right now. Fortunately it hummed into life straight away.

Chris slumped in the passenger seat, giving occasional directions, until they turned off the main roads onto a track down toward the ocean. Matt whistled in admiration at the stretch of private beach with house, garden, barbecue, garage, and pool.

It was just as nice inside. Spacious, good quality furniture, ocean views. Matt could imagine spending a lot more time here. He couldn't help but notice a large framed photograph on the sideboard; a man with dark hair and spectacles, smiling self-consciously and clutching a newspaper. Hmm.

"Stay if you want," Chris mumbled as he headed into the main bedroom. He unlaced his biker boots, dropped the leather pants, and flopped into bed wearing T-shirt and boxer shorts.

Matt was a little unsure if Chris meant him to stay literally there on the bed, or just stay over; there was a spare room. He took a risk and sat down on the bed, taking off his shoes. Chris didn't object, so Matt shed his jeans too and lay down, careful to keep a few inches away. To his pleasure, Chris threw out an arm and pulled him closer. 

Chris was snoring a few minutes later. Matt lay awake for a while, silently appreciating his surroundings, before he too drifted off. 

He woke abruptly in the middle of the night when something very hard pressed up against his ass. He took a moment to remember where he was, and it took all his self-control to swallow his surprise and lie still, as Chris sighed and ground up against him through two sets of fabirc, his breath hot and heavy on the back of Matt's neck. 

Although it wasn't exactly the sensual first sexual encounter Matt might have hoped for, he didn't mind being a masturbatory aid for the semi-conscious Chris, and he started to push back and rock a little in the bed. He was horny himself by the time Chris groaned and came in a sticky mess behind him, and jacked himself off surreptitiously as Chris sank back into slumber.

Well. What a night this had turned out to be.

* * *

Matt got up late the following morning, managed to extract himself from the dried sticky bedclothes with some difficulty, and had a long hot shower. He was in the kitchen drinking coffee when Chris appeared in the doorway, looking dishevelled and sheepish in clean pants and a T-shirt. 

"I'm sorry about last night," Chris said, straight up. "I had too much to drink. I was an asshole."

"No problem," Matt assured him immediately. "I enjoyed it."

"Well." Chris shuffled his feet. "It was good of you to take me home. Thanks."

"Worth it just to get this view from your window. Awesome having your own private beach." Matt pondered how best to extend contact. "I have to go to work now, but do you want a lift back to the club to pick up your bike?" 

"That would be great, thanks." Chris headed toward the coffee machine. "Just let me get some coffee."

Matt headed outside, wondering how to maneuver a return visit. Chris's car sat there, a sleek black Chevy; much nicer than Matt's old runabout which was always on the verge of breakdown. Suddenly a thought occurred; if his car did actually break down, he'd have to come back and get it. And Chris could give him a lift instead.

How to engineer a breakdown--he wasn't a boat engineer without knowing something about cars too. Matt popped the hood and pulled out the fuel pump fuse. Result. He shoved the fuse in his pocket, and when Chris appeared a couple of minutes later cradling a thermos in one hand, Matt was in the driver's seat attempting to crank the engine without success.

"This old pile of crap's always breaking down on me," Matt explained, vainly turning the key. "Can we take your car? I'd try and sort it out now but I have to get to work, I'll come back later and fix it."

"Sure," Chris said, then snapped his fingers. "Hold on. I've got another idea."

Was this good, or bad? Matt wasn't sure. Chris headed back into the house, emerging with a different bunch of keys. He went up the far side of the house toward the garage, swung open the door, and fuck! A little red Ferrari glowed within.

"This is yours?" Matt came up to peer over Chris's shoulder. "What is it, a '99? Nice! Very nice."

"It's mine, but I don't use it. Why don't you borrow it until you get yours fixed." Chris tossed Matt a Ferrari keychain. 

Matt was astonished. He knew he shouldn't hesitate, but really-- "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, it should be driven more. It's all insured and everything." Chris shrugged. "It belonged to Bob, my old manager at the club. He never had a weakness for anything except cars. He retired a few months ago and moved to Florida, and sold off half his collection. I thought I might drive it, but I prefer the bike. The Chevy's fine when I do want a car."

"Well. That's really generous of you," Matt burbled, and his mind was already deciding that his banged-up old car was pretty much a write-off anyway. It would only make sense to hang onto the Ferrari for a while. For as long as he could possibly wangle it.

* * *

The drive to the club in the Ferrari was heavenly. And best of all, as Chris was getting out of the car, he said offhand, "Got any dinner plans for tonight?"

"No." A date, a real date! The gods were smiling on him today.

"I'm going to my steakhouse this afternoon to look at accounts. Why don't you meet me there this evening?"

"That would be awesome!" Matt burbled. He got directions, and they agreed to a time. Matt headed off to work, smug as he arrived in the Ferrari. He found time to make a call to arrange for his old car to be towed from Chris's house; he didn't want to risk Chris poking around under the hood and perhaps spotting what he'd done. 

He made the effort to shower and change after work before heading to the steakhouse, and was amused to find that Chris too had taken trouble over his appearance. His fair hair was neatly combed, his eyes were clear and sharp, his shirt crisp and clean. He was a good-looking guy when he wasn't drunk and clumsy. Really a good catch.

"Matt. Hey," Chris stood up as Matt approached, and Matt dared lean in, and got a kiss on the cheek. Ha, if he played his cards right he'd be back in bed at that house on the ocean tonight...

And it went very well. Chris was all smiles, dipped eyelids, open body language. Matt remembered that Chris could get laid anytime and what was important was decent conversation; he delved deep into his reserves to talk about boats, sailing, life in New England where he'd grown up, and to ask Chris about his work, travel, motorcycles, friends. He skirted around how he'd come to New Jersey, but as Chris was rather obviously skirting around his own sensitive subjects (that dead boyfriend) it didn't matter.

They ended up kissing and groping like teenagers in the parking lot outside afterwards, and heading back to Chris's house in the Ferrari. Matt drove, and Chris kept a hand resting on his shoulder all the way.

In the house they embraced, then Matt drew back a few inches and said, "Do me a favor."

"Sure." Chris's breathing was heavy. 

"Can you get rid of the photo?" Matt jerked his head toward the frame on the side. "I feel like he's staring at me all the time."

Chris turned pale, and for a second Matt knew he'd gone too far and was about to be chucked out. He started to backtrack. "I didn't mean throw it out, perhaps just turn it away--"

But Chris was already walking toward the photo. He picked it up, cradling it carefully in his arms, and carried it away into the bedroom. Matt followed cautiously to see Chris open a closet, wrap the frame tenderly in a sweater, and place it on a shelf.

And then the door was closed on it, and Matt knew he'd won. He'd fucking won, _yah boo sucks to you Mr Photograph_.

* * *

A week later they were definitely in a relationship. Chris expressed interest in where Matt lived, until eventually Matt caved and agreed to show him. "It's just a crappy room in a godawful house. You won't want to sit down, let alone stay."

"I'm just curious," Chris insisted.

The house was in one of the seedier neighborhoods of New Jersey. They took the Chevy. Matt parked his embarrassment as they went inside, and focused on the good outcome that might materialize from this visit.

"You live here?" Chris swiveled, his eye falling in turn on the damp patches, the worn carpet, the bare bulb. "I think you could sue your landlord. The safety violations--"

Matt laughed hollowly. "Beggars can't be choosers. I can't afford to get evicted. I'm just hoping the crack dealer down the hall moves on soon. He should be able to afford better than this."

"There's a crack dealer down the hall?" Chris looked suitably horrified.

"Well, I haven't gone to check, but he has all kinds of people visiting, all hours." Matt left a deliberate pause. "You get used to it, really."

He watched Chris pace a step or two around the tiny room, and hardly dared move or speak in case he interrupted a train of thought. He was amply rewarded a minute later, when Chris said abruptly, "Matt, you can't live here. You really can't. We'll find somewhere else, I'll stake you, you can pay me back whenever."

Result. Matt silently rejoiced before pushing on the open door. "That's very good of you, Chris. Of course, you've got plenty of space in your house if you wanted a roommate—"

"NO." The reaction was loud and intense, and Matt regretted asking. Blast that dead boyfriend and the screwed-up-ed-ness he'd left behind. But Chris immediately softened the blow. "No offense. It's me, not you… look, the money's not a problem. I'm sure we can find you somewhere else nice."

Matt saw another opportunity. "Those new apartments near the club look very nice."

Chris looked a little startled by this precise suggestion.

"I was just thinking the other day, if only I lived there, I could see you easily any night you were at the club," Matt bulldozed on.

"True." Chris smiled a little. 

They went to see an apartment the next day, and it was everything Matt had hoped for; roomy, comfortable, well-furnished. The rental office required credit that he just didn't have, so Chris ended up taking it in his own name, and subletting to Matt.

"We'll sort out the details later," Chris muttered, and Matt basked in confidence that Chris wasn't going to demand any money. He anticipated performing frequent blowjobs and submitting to an occasional good hard fuck, no problem at all. And if he added companionship with decent conversation into the mix, that would let him stay in this apartment as long as he wanted.


	2. Matt the Grabber chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Linus and Raul get to know Matt, and they don't like what they find.
> 
> Excerpt: Linus called out, "You know, in all the years we've known each other, I never thought we would fall out over a man!"

Raul had been fucked by many men over the years, but never by someone who combined raw, rugged, coarse sexuality with such a deft touch. The palm on his cock was calloused and rough, but the fingers delicately poised to tease and titillate. Raul gasped, squeezed his eyes shut tight, grabbed the edge of the couch with both hands, and groaned a "God, yes!" as he came into Matt's expert fist. 

Matt gave him a minute to recover, then reached for a condom, saying, "Stay where you are. My turn."

Raul lay still on his back, not sure what Matt wanted to do. A minute later Matt mounted his chest, and stuck his cock into Raul's mouth. Raul took it, enjoying the fullness in his mouth, although he wasn't very comfortable; the old casting couch in Chris's office really had seen better days and the threadbare arm dug into the back of his head. 

Without warning, Matt pulled out, stripped off the condom and came all over Raul's face with a series of strangled gasps. "Look at you all dirty!.. _Look_ at you!"

Both amused and annoyed, Raul concentrated on not opening his mouth while wiping gunk off his face. 

Matt, settling contently back alongside him on the couch, noticed Raul's grimace. "Hey, I bet you let that boyfriend of yours come in your mouth, up your ass and anywhere else he damn well wants."

"That's different," Raul objected, a little piously. "Linus and I are fluid bonded."

"Fluid bonded!" Matt chortled. "Well, how about that. Maybe I can talk Chris into that one of these days. He's such a stickler for this condom crap. Mind you, I guess it's necessary in an open relationship." He lingered on the words _open relationship_ with evident pleasure. "You really are the cutest thing, you know that. And next time, I want to fuck your tight little ass." 

Raul couldn't help but grin at this pillow talk, while musing on whether Linus might be tempted to watch that. He suspected not. Because after years of enjoying voyeurism to the full with all sorts of men involved, Linus had apparently found one whom he couldn't stand under any circumstances.

* * *

Raul knew that Linus disliked Matt from Day One. He'd seen it from the moment they'd shaken hands at the club, watched Linus meet Matt's steely stare, and glare straight back. He'd then watched Linus visibly fighting this negative first impression, _wanting_ to try and like Chris's new boyfriend, goddamnit! There were smiles on the surface, but a strained cynical note to Linus's voice that meant it didn't ring quite true.

As Chris had warned them, Matt was a blunt kind of guy, his tone gruff, his manner verging on brusque. He obviously quickly perceived the antipathy from Linus, and didn't trouble to be enormously polite to him after the initial conversational exchanges. Linus ended up talking to Chris, while Matt chatted to Raul instead. 

By contrast, Raul quite took to Matt. They quickly got into a conversation about boats and sailing, and Raul found Matt both knowledgeable and enthusiastic.

"But you don't like him," Raul ventured as he and Linus left the club soon afterwards.

"I'm sure he's a great guy, maybe I'm just too tired to appreciate him right now," Linus sighed, then his eyebrows hit his hairline. "What's _that_ doing there? Has Chris started driving it after all?"

Raul followed Linus's gaze to a little red sports car parked ostentatiously close to the entrance. "Uh... wasn't that one of Bob's?"

"It was indeed. Biff!" Linus hailed the burly doorman standing nearby. "Whose Ferrari is that?"

"The bosses new man's driving it," Biff said, his gnarled face giving away nothing about what he felt. "The big man lent it to him, just a loaner, he says." The poker face cracked a little. "Can't see him getting it back anytime soon."

"I see." Linus's own face cracked into a frown, although he didn't say anything more.

* * *

They met Matt a few times over the next couple of weeks. Chris obviously wanted them to double-date, which Raul found quite fun, and Linus clearly found not fun at all. 

Matt and Raul had hooked up sexually for the first time one day when Linus was at his weekly golf game with Ziggy, and Chris busy working. Raul had taken Matt out for a spin in the cabin cruiser. They sailed around the coast a little, then out into the ocean, where they stopped for a while to sunbathe on the deck. Raul stripped off his T-shirt and lay down on a towel, aware of Matt's beady blue eyes drinking him in.

"Are you and Linus in one of these open relationship things?" Matt asked.

"Um, yes," Raul said, a little surprised at the directness, and the next thing Matt was kissing him. Matt's lips were rough but warm, and Raul responded readily. Soon they were rolling around on the towel together, naked, and ended up with cocks pressed together, coming almost simultaneously into each others' chests. Raul lay back panting in sticky heaven, listening to Matt mumbling almost incoherently. 

"Open relationships, fucking awesome!" Matt gabbled. "Not something I've ever had suggested to me before. When Chris told me that was the deal, take it or leave it, I didn't know what to think... but fuck, it makes so much sense. No worrying about falling off the wagon and sneaking around..."

"Mmm," Raul agreed, a little uncertainly. He had no doubt Chris wouldn't blink an eyelid at what they'd done. He found he was less sure about Linus...

He arrived home later to find Linus full of newly acquired gossip from Ziggy, including the information that Chris was paying the rent on Matt's apartment. 

"I don't know what the fuck Chris is playing at!" Linus ranted. "Those apartments are very upscale. It must be costing an arm and a leg. I've asked Ziggy to check Matt out on his computers and suchlike."

"What, you think Matt's a criminal or something?" Raul was quite excited. "What might he have done?"

"I don't know," Linus said crossly. "Fraud, sexual deviancy? Anything would do if Chris might be persuaded he's not a good thing." He peered closely at Raul. "Maybe _you_ can tell me, any particular sexual deviancy?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Raul answered meekly, relieved that Linus didn't seem jealous. (Not that Linus was ever jealous, of course).

Ziggy's report on Matt, a few days later, was disappointing. No criminal record. The cop had traced several minor incidents dating back a number of years, back in Maine, but none had ever come to anything. 

"Two arrests for bar brawls, accused of starting fights, no charges," Ziggy related.

Linus scowled. "Chris has been arrested more times than that for bar fights! Is that all? Nothing about fraud? Sex, soliciting, that kind of thing?"

"No fraud. One incident report after a neighbor heard shouting from a man coming from his apartment." Ziggy looked at his notes. "Matt claimed he'd been having consensual noisy sex, the guy he was with didn't want to press any charges, the officer thought it might not have been as consensual as Matt claimed but also that the neighbor was motivated by homophobia. And that's as interesting as it gets."

"Fuck it, _I_ have a worse record than that!" Linus threw up his hands, then looked rather sheepishly at Ziggy. "Not recently, of course."

Raul had heard various stories about the younger Linus, like the time he had taken in a runaway boy only to have an enraged father turn up on his doorstep and blow a hole in his ceiling with a shotgun. 

"Not recently," Ziggy agreed. "I think, Linus, you're just going to have to live with him. As it were."

* * *

Things came to a head one day when Chris dropped around to invite Linus and Raul for dinner, and Linus said yes until it became clear that Matt would be there too. "Actually Chris, maybe we'll take a rain-check. It's been a long week."

Raul, curled up on the window seat in the dining room, hidden behind the curtain, strained to hear Chris's response. It came loud and clear.

"Bullshit!" Chris wasn't fooled for a second. "Why don't you like him? What's your problem?"

"I don't think I'm the one with the problem," Linus said with dignity. "He's manipulative. He's sneaky."

Chris snorted. "Manipulative my ass."

"He's good enough that you don't notice him do it, Chris. Think about it. You've known him what, four months? And he's living in an apartment which you pay for, driving your car, drinking and eating for free in all your establishments--"

"Big fucking deal!" Chris snapped. "Every boyfriend you've ever had has moved in with _you_ , lived off _you_ and driven _your_ car from the day you met!"

Raul peeked out from behind the curtain and just caught Linus's expression, righteous indignation mixed with reluctant acknowledgement that Chris had a point. When he spoke again, it was to take a different tack. "You've stopped wearing your ring."

"It's not appropriate now, is it?" Chris was defensive now.

"And where's Edward's photograph gone?" Linus demanded.

"Fuck off!" There came the sound of a thud, a fist being smashed onto a table perhaps.

When Chris spoke again, it was much more quietly. "I just don't want to be alone anymore."

Raul felt a lump in his throat.

There was a short pause before Linus muttered, "Maybe it's better to be alone than--"

"I'm going home," Chris cut in. "I'll see you."

Chris's feet sounded on the wooden hallway floor, growing distant. Then Linus called out, "You know, in all the years we've known each other, I never thought we would fall out over a man!" 

_"Fuck--off!"_ Chris shouted. And the door slammed.

Raul pushed the curtain aside and ventured hesitantly into the dining room as Linus came in from the hall, brow furrowed, fists curled into frustrated balls.

"My darling Raul," Linus said in a tone of despair. "Tell me Matt the Grabber is good in bed. That would at least make this whole situation more comprehensible to me."

Raul didn't answer directly, as Matt _was_ rather good in bed, and it seemed unlikely Linus actually wanted to hear this. "I don't think it's the sex so much as just being part of a couple," he offered instead.

"I know that, I really do. And I should be glad for him, but I'm a bad person, Raul. I want them to break up even if that makes Chris miserable." Linus threw up his hands. "Listen to me! How selfish am I?"

Raul sensed an unspoken part of the problem, hesitated fractionally, then decided to resolve it. "I won't fuck him anymore. Matt, I mean."

"Raul, I--I--I was not asking that." Linus stuttered with astonishment. 

"I know that," Raul echoed.

"I would never ask that, however much I dislike him. You must always do what _you_ want to do," Linus went on, and Raul could not help but smile. He knew Linus held this position because _he_ wanted the freedom to fuck whomever took his fancy, and was far too fair-minded to insist Raul behave any differently.

"I don't want to fuck him, not anymore." Raul was sincere. "Really. I... I hope you and Chris don't fall out."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Chris and I have been friends way too long to _really_ fall out over something like this," Linus said briskly. 

But he did look relieved, and Raul knew he'd done the right thing; he'd eased Linus's tension just enough that hopefully now they could all be friends again. They could meet up with Chris while Matt was busy at work or elsewhere; double dating was definitely off the agenda.

* * *

Matt had no liking for Linus, the fat old guy who wore those revolting patterned shirts, with his distrustful eyes and sarcastic tone. He was glad he'd sweet-talked Chris into the apartment and the car before the best pal had appeared on the scene. 

There was one enormous plus to Linus's return though, and that was the much younger boyfriend. The first time Matt saw Raul, sitting in the downstairs bar, he felt his jaw drop and drool start to form. Once introduced, he could hardly believe it. Jesus Christ almighty, this beautiful creature voluntarily chose to be with Linus? Linus really must be loaded. Matt sure couldn't think of another reason why a young man as fit and handsome as Raul would choose a boyfriend who had to have at least twenty years on him, and could stand to lose twenty pounds at that.

Matt took his time initially to ascertain how far this Open Relationship business went. He wasn't at all sure if it would be acceptable to try and put the moves on the Best Pal's boyfriend. But that turned out to be okay; Chris himself obviously was on intimate terms with Raul, at least judging by how far he stuck his tongue down Raul's throat on occasion. Matt enjoyed a couple of sexual encounters with Raul, out on the boat, at the club.

And then, nothing. Chris started to steer Matt clear of Linus, and opportunities to see Raul were accordingly limited. Matt grumbled a bit, but didn't dare push.

His chance to progress came one night when Linus was throwing a party, a big bash at his house, and the invitation was extended to Matt, too.

"I'm honored," Matt said to Chris.

Chris wagged a finger. "Please be nice to Linus. Just for one night."

The fat man knew how to throw a party. His house (which was huge and impressive, and made Matt a little sorry that he didn't get on with Linus better) was filled with good food, very good wine, and rather attractive men. Just how Linus managed to find such good-looking young men was a source of amazement to Matt; there seemed to be an inexhaustible supply…

...which surely made it an ideal time to put the moves on Raul. But it was very late into the night when Matt finally found Raul on his own, in the kitchen. He was standing by the sink, examining a bottle, and Matt stole up behind him.

"Hey. Guess who." He put his hands around to cover Raul's eyes.

"Matt, hello." Raul laughed a little, and removed the hands. "Long time no see. I hope you are having a good time?"

"Yeah, but not as good as I'm about to have." Matt's hands snaked back around Raul's torso.

Raul stood very still, then said, "Please don't touch me."

"What?" Matt's hands continued to roam, and when Raul reached to pull them away, he persisted. "Oh, come on. You know you want to."

"No." Raul was icily polite. "Please stop."

The little tease. Matt moved forward a little, placing his hands on Raul's hips, pressing his hard-on against Raul's ass crack. Even through two layers of clothing, Raul's ass felt gorgeous; pert and rounded and peach-like.

"Matt, no, stop." Raul's voice was louder now, and he tried to step sideways. Matt didn't budge, holding him in place by the sink, envisaging taking this lovely creature right here, right now, over the kitchen sink--

_"MATT."_

Matt nearly jumped out of his skin at the stern voice behind them. He let go of Raul and wheeled around to find Linus standing with his arms folded and a face like thunder.

"Raul said no," Linus said, a tingle of wrath showing through an otherwise level tone. "He said no, and that means you let go of him and step away fast."

Matt stepped away dumbly.

"If I hear you haven't respected a _no_ again, from anyone, I will ruin you," Linus spoke now with slow chilly rage. "Understand?"

"Goddamn fuss about nothing," Matt protested.

"Do you _understand?"_

"Yes I fucking understand!" Matt roared back. Raul slipped past him to join Linus, and away they went.

* * *

Matt was really worried for a while that Linus would tell Chris what had happened, and mentally lined up his argument for the defense ("Oh come on, Raul's anybody's after a few drinks and he'd been leading me on all night,") but it wasn't needed. Chris was clearly oblivious.

As the weeks passed, Matt nursed the experience in his mind, and eventually decided that it wasn't Raul who was the problem. It was Linus. No wonder Raul had been saying _no_ if he knew Linus was nearby and going to react like that! So all Matt had to do was get Raul somewhere Linus wouldn't be, and bingo. That tight little ass would be his.

He had to wait a couple of months before the opportunity came. Linus and Chris were both going to some deeply dull sounding local business seminar. Matt thought dropping round Linus's place might be a good move, but on the day a better opportunity presented itself; Raul turned up at the marina. Matt was working on an outboard engine in the yard when he spotted Raul boarding the cabin cruiser in the distance.

It was an invitation. Matt could see it no other way.

He waited patiently until Raul had gone down into the cabin, then strolled nonchalantly across to board the boat himself.


	3. Matt the Grabber chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Matt thinks he and Raul have some unfinished business. House sticks his nose into Matt's past.
> 
> Excerpt: "Well look who it is," Matt drawled. "Cute-ass Raul, all alone."

Raul was cheerful and humming as he moved around the cabin, his mind on upcoming blue sky and wide ocean, when footsteps on the deck above startled him. The sight of Matt's looming figure on the stairs made him freeze with alarm. Damnit, he had really hoped not to run into him--

"Well look who it is," Matt drawled. "Cute-ass Raul, all alone. I think we had some unfinished business."

"No we don't," Raul was swift to say.

"Oh, come on. The kitchen that time? Your fat fuck of a boyfriend interrupting us?" Matt spread out his hands.

"We have no unfinished business. Can you leave," Raul said firmly.

Matt's face crinkled into ghostly mirth. "You wanna play hard to get, huh?" 

And he launched himself at Raul. His position on the stairs gave him the advantage of height in the small, confined space; Raul, despite being strong and muscular (he usually had no trouble getting rid of unwanted advances) couldn't avoid being knocked to the ground.

He landed awkwardly on his side, his head hitting the floor, and this rendered him momentarily dazed as Matt clambered on top of him, groping and pulling at his clothes. Raul felt the cold wood of the floor against his cheek, and the boat beneath rocking on the water, and this sensation brought memories of a long-ago boat trip flooding into his mind. Small rickety boat, a terribly long journey across the ocean, too many men--far too many fucking men--

No! That was then, this was now, and everything was different. With a huge effort, Raul wrenched himself out from under Matt, rolling to the side, and scrambling to his feet before Matt could pull him back. Unfortunately, Matt was still between him and the stairs; Matt hauled himself up as Raul hesitated, and their gazes locked.

Raul made a quick decision. He dropped onto his right knee at lightening speed, swinging his left arm wildly. As Matt lunged forward to grab the arm, Raul cupped his right hand and struck upwards toward Matt's groin. The heel of Raul's hand caught Matt square in the balls; Raul's fingers immediately tightened to squeeze and yank toward him. Even through clothing, he felt skin and flesh tear; Matt let out a roar that could have woken the dead, and fell as if poleaxed.

And poleaxed was, Raul thought, pretty much what had happened...

"What...what the fuck...fuck...fuck..." Matt wheezed, as Raul moved swiftly around the cabin toward the stairs. "You're...you're...you're not gonna leave me here!?"

That had been what Raul intended to do, but actually it didn't seem feasible. This was Linus and Chris's boat; he could hardly leave Matt crumpled on the floor, possibly bleeding to death. 

"Are you going to behave yourself?" Raul asked, in his best impression of his fourth grade teacher.

"What...I'm in fucking agony, man!" Matt's face had gone completely white. "Get me to the ER!"

Raul managed to get Matt to his feet and off the boat, and ended up driving him to the ER in the Ferrari. Matt, apparently in shock, sat down very gingerly and stayed very still with with his eyes closed all the way. His breathing was shallow and ragged.

"He hurt his groin," Raul said diplomatically to the nurse who took Matt's details.

"I work in a boatyard; boat swung around and hit me in the crotch," Matt supplemented with surprising speed. 

Raul raised his eyebrows as the nurse departed, and Matt explained through blueish lips, "Saw that happen to a guy a few years ago. He tore his scrotum. Think that's what's happened to me."

Ouch. Raul winced in sympathy, but didn't say he was sorry. He got Matt propped up in a chair in the waiting area, then told Matt he was leaving. 

"Raul, we always got on alright, you and me, didn't we?" Matt's tone was beseeching. "Until your boyfriend got all jealous and ruined it all."

Raul opened his mouth to contradict, but in fact Matt was really quite close to the mark. They _had_ got on. Raul nodded instead.

"No need to tell Chris about this little misunderstanding, is there?" Matt went on. Raul frowned, and Matt added hastily, "I mean I misunderstood the situation, came on a bit strong perhaps. I'm really sorry. Are we okay?"

Raul sighed. "We are not okay, Matt, you were going to assault me." 

"Alright, we're not okay, but please could you not tell Chris." Matt's tone was pleading now. "I get the message now, and believe me, I won't do it again."

Raul envisaged telling Chris and Linus what had happened, imagined Chris's disappointment, Linus's rage. Chris and Matt would break up for sure, either that or Chris and Linus would break up for sure. He envisaged Chris alone, lonely, miserable, shuffling around in old clothes again, seeking refuge in drink and drugs. He remembered how worried Linus had been that Chris would just end it all one day, either deliberately or through sheer lack of care for himself. Raul did not want to return to this situation. 

"I won't tell Chris, and you won't do it again," Raul said tersely.

"Thanks. Hey, what was that thing you did to me?" Matt's voice was tinged with relief and admiration through agony. "Some kind of martial art move?"

"Yes, it's called _Monkey Steals the Peach,_ " Raul explained, unable to stop a smile.

* * *

The monkey had not damaged the peach as badly as Matt had initially feared. He needed stitches in a place he had hoped would never need such medical attention, and it hurt worse than any pain he could ever remember, but drugs and ice-packs helped with the pain and a jock strap provided support until it headed. 

He explained to a sympathetic Chris that he'd hurt himself handling a boat. Thank fuck, erections and all that stuff resumed normal service within a couple of weeks. Full recovery took a while, but it was okay in the end. Matt knew he'd had a lucky escape. 

Chris was continuing to steer clear of places where Matt would meet Linus, and that made it easy to avoid Raul too. Aware of the power Raul held over him, Matt was punctilious with impeccable behavior when they did happen to meet.

* * *

Time passed. Life was good. Matt enjoyed living in his nice apartment and driving the Ferrari. He was all too well aware that Chris could take it all away, if he wanted, and pondered on how best to protect himself.

They were sitting outside on the beach one evening after an excellent barbecue dinner, the sun setting and a cool breeze fanning them, when Matt remarked, "I was thinking we should get one of them civil union things."

Chris scrunched his eyes up, and Matt knew instantly he wasn't going to win this one. He sought an alternative, seeking to appeal to Chris's fair-mindedness. "I mean, I sometimes feel very vulnerable with no legal status. Like, if you got hit by a bus tomorrow, I'd lose everything."

That made Chris flinch; Matt remembered dimly that Saint Edward had died in a motor accident. He blustered on anyway. "I'd lose my apartment, my car, I'd be back in my old shithole room in a second."

"Yeah, I can see what you mean." Chris spoke slowly, reluctantly.

"Doesn't have to be a civil union, but if I just knew there was something in your will about me I'd sleep easier," Matt bulldozed to his point.

Chris drummed his fingers on his chair. "Let me think about this, okay?"

* * *

Raul was curled up in his favorite window seat behind the curtain in the dining room one afternoon, when he heard Chris's voice out in the hall. Cozy and engrossed in a book, Raul didn't bother to get up, figuring he could say hello in a minute.

He didn't mean to eavesdrop, but raised voices suddenly drew his attention. He peeped out to see Chris and Linus standing by the dining table, Chris with his hand resting on a small stack of paperwork. Linus... well. Linus was red-faced and shaking; Raul was instantly alarmed. He had never seen Linus get so upset in such a short amount of time.

"You're what?" Linus was saying. "You're changing your will to put _him_ in it?"

"Yeah. Linus, I don't want to do this without you--"

"You're going to have to. I'm not fucking well executing any will where your beautiful house, Edward's house, goes to him. Chris, you've known him less than two years--"

Chris's reply was unexpectedly sharp. "Damnit, did I say no when you told me you were giving Raul _your_ house in _your_ will, after only six months?"

That made Raul jump. He craned his neck to see Linus's face, which was running a gauntlet of emotions: shock, anger, disbelief.

"That was nothing like this," Linus said at last. "I had cancer and I thought I might die. You are fit and healthy, and if he's trying to blackmail you into this, I swear--"

"Nobody's fucking well blackmailing anyone into anything! I'm just trying to give my boyfriend some peace of mind! If I got hit by a bus--if I fell off my motorcycle--"

Raul winced, amazed that Chris had said such a thing. 

The argument raged for several minutes. Raul shrank back behind the curtain and into himself, trying not to listen, humming inwardly, blocking it out. He hated people fighting, especially Linus. Linus was so peaceful and good-natured, anything that got him angry had to be really serious.

The word _Australia_ caught Raul's attention again, when Linus said, "Look, you know I'm about to go to Australia. Raul and I are going to be away for six months. Don't do anything while I'm gone, give it time, there's no hurry. We'll discuss it when I'm back."

Chris was silent.

"If you still feel like this when I'm back, fine, you'll have my blessing." Linus made the big concession. "What's six months in the grand scheme of things?"

Chris grumbled a bit, but agreed. When Raul dared to peek out a few minutes later, Chris and his pile of papers had gone, and Linus was sitting at the table looking older than his years. Raul slipped out and went to slide his arms around his beloved Linus.

"Raul, dear me." Linus saw where he had come from, and looked surprised. He leaned into Raul's embrace. "Did you hear all that?"

"Some of it," Raul murmured, and couldn't help but ask. "Did you really put me into your will after only six months? While you were in hospital, that first time?"

"I did." Linus sighed into Raul's chest. " _Je ne regrette rien._ "

Raul had to look that one up.

* * *

Six months was okay. Matt could live with that kind of delay. With Linus and Raul away on vacation, he and Chris spent more time together, and Matt looked forward with considerable satisfaction to the day Linus would return and have to watch Matt get written into Chris's will. Eat dirt, fat guy.

When Chris called to say that an 'old Princeton buddy' had come to stay for a couple of days, Matt was moderately suspicious. The only person Chris had ever mentioned in relation to Princeton was an ex. "Not that Wilson guy you used to go out with?"

"No no," Chris hastened to say. "It's a...friend of his. His name's House. Look, I'll call you when he's gone."

But Matt was curious to meet this guy with the stupid name (House, honestly, who was called that?), and wangled a dinner invite a few evenings later. He arrived to find Chris looking nervous and smelling faintly of whiskey. 

One look at House told Matt he had nothing to fear. The guy was a cripple with a cane, and had been hurt in an accident; a large white bandage disfigured his shoulder. Even apart from all that, he was nothing like the Blessed Edward demographic that Chris always went for. House was older than Chris, blue eyed, greying. No threat whatsoever.

They chatted over beer. House was a doctor, which amused Matt. "Fucking great advertisement for the medical profession you are, with a crippled leg and a whacking great bandage on your shoulder."

House's eyes gleamed. "What an interesting idea. Only people with no disabilities should be allowed to become doctors. And quite right too. Crippled doctors can't possible provide decent medical care. You could stand for Congress on a platform like that, actually. I can see the placards now: _Cripples Out! Disabled Doctors, no thanks!_ "

He had a smart alec on his hands. Fucking pompous doctor, looking down on him. Matt bristled and the conversation went downhill from there, until House called Matt, "A grade A gold digging bastard." 

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Matt couldn't believe his ears. Where had this come from? He'd only met the guy half an hour ago!

"I _mean_ , you're obviously a fortune-hunter on the lookout to screw a rich boat-owning lonely idiot in search of some male company," House stated.

Matt felt his jaw drop and anger flare, as House went on. "That's a flashy car you drove up in; you don't buy that on a boat mechanic's salary. And you live in one of these fancy beachfront apartments, don't you? I drove down to take a look the other day."

This fucking cripple had been spying on him! Matt leaped to his feet. 

"No way can you afford the rent on that unless it comes out of someone else's bank account," House was relentless. "You're nothing but a freeloading bloodsucking son-of-a-bitch-- "

Matt swung his fist, but Chris was there holding him back. 

"I didn't come here to be fucking insulted!" Matt yelled, and suddenly a sliver of fright ran right through his body. Panic as well as rage sent him storming out of the door, into the Ferrari, and home.

By the time he arrived back at his apartment building, the rage had ebbed somewhat, and fear was in the ascendancy. Matt paused at reception to ask the doorman, "Joe, tell me, have you seen a cripple hanging around here recently? Tall guy with a cane--"

"I seen him," Joe said immediately. "Couple days ago. He was loitering outside in a car, I didn't think nuthin' of it. Then I caught him later inside, sneaking around the third floor. Claimed he was looking for a friend. I threw him out, of course. Don't know how he slipped past me."

"Thanks." Matt headed on inside, worry churning at his innards. He lived on the third floor. Was there any chance House had gotten into his apartment? Suddenly Matt remembered he'd been surprised, two days ago, when he'd gotten home from work and found the place tidier than he'd left it. He'd figured Chris had been there, but maybe not...

He spent a sleepless night trying to figure out what had happened.

* * *

He was at work the next day when Chris showed up at one o'clock, Matt's usual lunch break time. Chris went straight to his boat and sat out on the deck; Matt took a deep breath and went to join him.

Close up, Chris's face was stiff and remote; Matt realized straight off that he'd lost him. He sat down anyway, hoping they could talk it out, maybe he could salvage things--

"House left me a dossier," Chris said, and patted a small stack of papers sitting on a table by his elbow. "He suggested I call some of your exes and left me their numbers. So that's what I've been doing this morning."

_Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!_ Matt clutched the arms of his chair, head swimming with the implications. So that was what House had been poking around for in his apartment.

"First I spoke to Gus, your guy in Maine," Chris continued, and Matt put a hand over his eyes. "He was happy to talk to me. Told me you met when you fixed his boat, you went out for nearly three years, he thought you were probably cheating on him but was willing to turn a blind eye, 'cause he was a lot older than you and figured he was lucky to have you. Until he overheard you on the phone one day, telling your own toyboy what an absolute sucker Gullible Gus was, and how you would be in line to inherit all his money."

"That... was a long time ago." Matt desperately sought mitigation. "He was my first real boyfriend. I was young and stupid."

"Very stupid." Chris wasn't giving him an inch. "Then I called Hal, your Rhode Island honey. He didn't want to talk to me at all, just said you were a bastard, and because of you, he had to sell his yacht and a friend of his had spent a year in therapy. Mysterious, eh?"

"Yeah," Matt said feebly. Suddenly he was ultra-aware of the cabin below them, a yawning Raul-shaped chasm about to suck him in. "I had a bit of a misunderstanding with the friend, on the yacht."

"House left me a hospital report on this friend." Chris flicked through papers with one hand. "He turned up at an ER covered in bruises and with anal tears. Doctors suspected assault or even rape, but the guy wouldn't say a thing."

How the fuck had House gotten hold of that? Damn doctors, looking out for each other!

"And finally, Colin from Connecticut. You've been working your way down the eastern seaboard, haven't you?" A touch of wry humor eased Chris's tone momentarily. "He didn't want to talk at first, but when I opened up a bit about myself, told him we'd been going out a while and I was thinking of making a real commitment with you like maybe joint title, even civil union, he blew a gasket and said not to touch you with a ten foot pole."

"You shouldn't believe a word he said," Matt spoke desperately. "Our break-up was really bad, he hated me at the end--"

"He certainly does," Chris cut in. "He told me he was in love and he thought you were too. You were together several years, he gave you lots of money and he put you in his will. A few weeks after he did that, you were out sailing when you pushed him overboard, and you were going to leave him there."

"No, I wasn't," Matt gabbled furiously. "He's paranoid--he's making it up--it was a joke--I was going to go back--"

"He sounds completely sane to me, and he's sure you were going to leave him to drown. If another boat hadn't shown up at the right moment, he would have." Chris's voice was as stark as Matt had ever heard it. "He didn't want to press any charges, didn't think he could get them to stick, but he stripped you of everything you had that he owned and ran you out of town. Last he heard, you were heading toward New Jersey in an old beat-up car, on the lookout for another mark."

Matt was silent.

"We're over," Chris said, unnecessarily. "I called the management company of your apartment building just now, gave them a month's notice. You've got that long to find somewhere else and move out. Or take over the rent yourself." 

Matt sighed, knowing that Chris knew perfectly well he couldn't afford that; it was an eviction.

"But you can keep the Ferrari," Chris went on. He picked up a thin file from the stack on the the table, and tossed it onto Matt's lap. 

Matt picked it up cautiously and leafed through the contents. Pink slip, insurance documentation, service record. Fuck. This was a pay-off. Generous enough so he wasn't going to start arguing at this point, or Chris might change his mind. "Uh. Thank you."

"Keep it, or sell it if you prefer, you should get enough to tide you over for a while." Chris was gruff. "See you around."

And despite that positive sounding farewell, Matt knew full well he would never see Chris again. He could not thrive in the scene around here, not with Chris owning half the bars and restaurants, Chris's friends everywhere. No more privileged access, on the contrary now an outcast. He could not carry on working in this marina with Chris (and Linus, and Raul) as customers. 

No, he had to move on; he would claim itchy feet and move south, as he had done before. He would get another job; the marina would give him a good reference. He was a hard worker and always got good job references. And he would meet someone else.

* * *

Suddenly, Chris was alone again. He searched his soul for the sorrow and loneliness that had dominated his life before, but found it curiously absent. Instead he felt... relief. House had done him a favor. 

There was a hole in his life, though. All the time he'd spent with Matt; hanging out, eating, drinking, sleeping... suddenly, nothing. He found himself wandering around at a loss. Chris realized with a sense of detachment that he was _bored_. Linus and Raul would not be back for a couple of months yet. And being a practical kind of guy, he decided on a practical solution to fill his time.

He called his club manager Ferdinand to ask, "Have you filled that vacant afternoon bar shift yet?"

"Not yet." Ferdinand sounded surprised. "Why, have you got someone in mind?"

"Yeah. Me." Chris enjoyed the incredulity he could hear in the intake of breath down the line. "I've got extensive experience working as a bartender. I'll be there tomorrow at three sharp. And don't worry, I won't expect to draw a salary."

Much later, Chris thought that the whole Matt episode had at least done him one favor; it had sent him back to his roots, to tend the downstairs bar at the club. 

And a few weeks later, in walked Brian.

END

* * *

A/N: [Chris and Brian part 1: A Man Walks into a Bar](http://community.livejournal.com/chris_edward/4565.html) runs straight on from here. 

Matt's downfall is also told in [Enough of the Deja Vu: Part 3 Return](https://archiveofourown.org/works/71698/chapters/94934). 

Raul's move: [Monkey Steals the Peach](http://monkeystealsthepeach.com/).

Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
